


And You, My Love, Are Gone

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drama, M/M, Moving Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mirror by the front door is gone, and so is the lamp from the side-table. All the magazines that had been neatly organized beneath the coffee table are gone, too, and a large section of their DVD collection. Picture frames are missing and Blaine tries not to look at those—he doesn’t want to know which ones got to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You, My Love, Are Gone

The mug was a bit too warm to touch with his bare hands, but Blaine skimmed the edge of his pinky along the rim anyways. He doesn’t know why he got it, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

 _It should be raining_ , he thinks absently. But there isn’t a cloud in the sky; it’s a lovely spring day in New York City and Blaine hates it more than he’s ever hated anything, really.

He swallows and stops looking out the window.

He tries to focus, instead, on his mug and the bitter smell of coffee that curls out of it in wisps of steam. It’s not bitter to him, though, not anymore. He’s been drinking coffee for years now and the scent is familiar and comforting to him. At least, it used to be. Now it’s too full of memories.

He swallows again and wonders why he came here at all.

His phone sits with the screen up beside his cup and he taps at it every time it dims, as if he’s expecting something new. But there’s never anything. Just the picture of Kurt that’s been his background since that past winter. His nose is slightly red from the cold and he’s wearing a hat, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

‘ _What are you doing?_ ’

They’d been Christmas shopping and it had started to snow.

‘ _Making everything last longer_.’

Blaine stares at the picture for so long that his coffee goes cold.

‘ _You don’t need a picture for that_.’

Blaine turns his phone over.

‘ _Sometimes a picture is a nice reminder_.’

He stares into his coffee instead but makes no move to drink it.

It’s almost dark when his phone buzzes on the table next to him.

He doesn’t move as if he’s been waiting all day for it to make noise; his limbs are sluggish as he flips it over, face drawn and resigned.

 **Rachel (7:49PM):  
**      Okay.

His stomach is in ropes as he stands and pockets his phone, pushing out into the traffic of New Yorkers making their way home from work. But Blaine doesn’t move with purpose like the rest of them; shoulders bump him and people pass him without a second glance. Which is fine by Blaine, has always been fine, but today he could do without the attention even more. He knows one word will be the end of whatever is keeping it all together.

Their apartment is on the third floor. There’s no elevator and Blaine had severely injured his back when they tried to get a couch up the tiny switchback stairs. It was perfect.

It had been perfect, at least. But it feels empty when he pushes the door open again.

It doesn’t look all that different. Well, that’s not completely true, either. The mirror by the front door is gone, and so is the lamp from the side-table. All the magazines that had been neatly organized beneath the coffee table are gone, too, and a large section of their DVD collection. Picture frames are missing and Blaine tries not to look at those—he doesn’t want to know which ones got to go.

He can’t look in the kitchen or— _fuck_ —their bedroom, so he doesn’t. He stands in the doorway for a long time and then lets himself simply slide to the floor where he stands.

Blaine pulls his phone out again, doesn’t light it up but stares at the black screen for a long time. It’s so quiet that he can hear their neighbors as they come and go, what sounds like laughing across the hall. 

It’s a sad day when laughing makes his heart hurt.

The ache is so bad it makes him nauseous.

The apartment is nearly pitch black when his phone lights up on it’s own accord and Blaine is looking at it—he’s been staring at it for hours it seems and he can’t look away now.

He wishes he could have.

 **Kurt (10:25PM):  
**      I’m sorry.


End file.
